


can't believe I captured your heart

by goreallegore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, Football | Soccer, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4707755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goreallegore/pseuds/goreallegore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall shrugs, “thanks, couldn’t bear living on campus after freshmen year. So moved in here my second year with me mate.”</p><p>Harry nods, pausing to repeat Niall’s words in his head, “wait, you’re not a second year?” Please don’t say senior. Please.</p><p>“Third year.” Thank god. </p><p>Harry sighs in relief, “so ready for the movie?” </p><p>Or; Niall likes movies. And Harry is just trying to figure himself out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can't believe I captured your heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daddykink (halogenharry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halogenharry/gifts).



> I swear I thought I wasn't gonna finish this in time but yay! I really hope you like it. I kept the anonymity factor for some part of the fic but I tweaked the prompt a little. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Special shoutout to Amy for being my sole motivation. She pushed me through this and helped me bounce ideas off of her. I love youuu. And Nicole and Sav for beta'ing this and letting me know their honest opinions.
> 
> And a special thanks to the GC for believing in me. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I obviously don't own One Direction.

i.

The turf is still damp beneath Harry’s feet, grazing the sole of his cleats as he saunters across the field. They don’t start practice for another week, but he has this habit of familiarizing with his space; especially, when it comes to the field he’s going to be playing on. Second year at Sheffield and he still feels the need to spend some time on the field by himself – maybe do some warmups, run the perimeter or just simply lie on the ground and breathe in the coarse smell of the dirt that he finds comfort in.

 

Football has always been a part of his life. Ingrained into his bones like the favorite song he never forgot words to, a hobby turned passion he picked up in his grade school years – only to be accepted by one of the top ranking universities for a soccer scholarship. It’s a dream. His dream.

He stops in front of one of the goal posts, the metal pole standing upright glistening under the condensation set in by the sprinklers. He rubs his thumb over a water droplet, reminiscing their almost victory of last season, and sighs, “Maybe, this year.”

\--

Athletes move in at the same time as other students, at least after summer break, so when Harry moves in a day early and his suite is eerily empty it’s expected. He’s rooming with a couple of his friends from the football team, Liam (their central defender) and Louis (their striker). It’s almost uncanny how fast they clicked, from being teammates to _proper_ mates. Liam, also, being a business major helps. He and Harry share a lot of classes – saves him from the effort of making friends outside of his already established circle.

 

He wouldn’t necessarily label himself a jock, especially because those stereotypes are strictly reserved for high school, but he can sometimes sense the way people look at him. Like the spectacle he is with his jersey and the clutter of loud, brash company he associates himself with. But when he’s sat in his mandatory literature lecture, Professor reading some profound quote by Poe or Frost, he feels as if it’s maybe not too hard to fit in. To sort of lose himself in the crowd of unfamiliar faces and be just _another_ student. Louis says, that Harry thinks a lot. Maybe he does, but it’s only because there is an itch underneath his skin that he’s been trying to scratch off. For a while now.

 

Harry steps inside his room, seeing the array of unpacked boxes and half empty suitcase and takes in a deep breath. _It’s going to be a long night_ , he thinks.

\--

The semester rolls in like the impending storm Louis had predicted. 5 weeks and three days is all it takes for them to be swamped with homework. Due dates and projects are enough to keep them from graduating, on top of football practice, of course – ok, Harry might be exaggerating, but when you’re spending 5+ hours at the library, trying to write an analysis over intersectionality’s absence from the Marxist theories panned out during the 20th century, you’re bound to exaggerate a smidge.

 

Harry is circling away terms that sound much like a foreign language when he realizes he needs another primary source for his paper, “Fuck.”

 

Louis, who’s seated opposite to him, jerks his head up obviously startled, “what’s wrong?”

 

“I need another book. Dammit, more reading for tonight.” Louis offers him a frown, sighing at Harry’s struggle and goes back to marking his textbook. He’d sit down and complain but he knows that it’s better to find the textbook and get this over with, after all, it’s his own fault for putting off things till the last weekend.

 

Harry wanders out of his chair to the second floor where all the Poli-Sci books are located. The shelves are stacked with 20th century critiques and dissertations on theories that Harry has yet to study or look into – it’s almost overwhelming being surrounded by so much information.

 

He makes his way to the last column, tucked away in the corner, and pulls out a copy of “The Communist Manifesto”. A small note falls from the wooden frame as Harry holds onto the spine of the book. He crouches down to pick up the piece of paper, opening the small parchment, and finds words scribbled on to it. The writing is far from neat, hastily scratched onto the surface of a lined sheet, but there is something about the way it was properly folded that has Harry confused. _Why would someone carelessly write the note yet crease the paper all properly?_ He thinks.

 

He has yet to read what the note has to say, so instead of assuming, he reads out the note.

 

_midterms week have been hell, no? been googling jokes all morning. wanna hear one?_

 

And maybe it’s the coffee getting to his head, or just the pure thrill of conversing with a stranger, but Harry finds himself reaching for the pen in his back pocket.

 

_sure!_

 

 

 

 

\--

Their first match is with Fulham, a college that’s up North. It’s just pre-season, but that doesn’t stop the jitters from settling in the pit of his stomach. Every year he strikes himself out by getting a little too nervous, his mind wandering to the maybes and what if’s. Granted, he has yet to mess up but that doesn’t stop the fear from finding home in his mind.

 

He’s tying his laces for what feels like the third time when Liam marches over to him, a blue backpack in hand, “mate, you left this outside. Jess, said you might needed stuff from it?”

Harry thanks his lucky stars, and Liam Payne for what seems like the hundredth time in the past two years. He is quite forgetful, but it’s okay because he remembers when he  _has_ to.

 

“Thanks a bunch.”

 

“Anytime,” Liam nods, turning his back to Harry and pulling open his locker. “Nervous for tonight’s game?”

 

Harry is scouring through his bag, white gloves peeking out, “when am I not, Payno?”

Liam does that, checks up on him making sure that Harry isn’t overthinking every little bit. He’s sort of the support system of the group and it keeps Harry going, his mind is a labyrinth he has gotten lost in on more than one occasion which is never a good thing – especially before a game.

 

He hears a thud of metal, assuming Liam is done looking for whatever he was, when he finds a small paper poking out of one of the zips of his backpack. He plucks it out, opening the note and smiling at the joke he had found the other day at the library.

 

_what do you call a group of unorganized cats? *drum roll please* a cat-astrophe!_

 

He smiles to himself, the queasiness in his tummy finally settling down. The odd weight donning his shoulders seems to have disappeared leaving behind a pleasant sensation, a tingling vibration in his veins making him feel excited rather than scared.

 

A warm hand comes to place on his shoulder, and he turns to even warmer brown eyes, “you’re gonna do great.”

 

And Harry believes him. _They’re gonna do great._

\--

Winning game tradition is to get smashed at Alan’s bungalow, the scenic white-washed house two miles down south from the campus. It’s a sight, honestly, the house located on a prime location that is right on the beach. Harry has never been one to turn down a party, so when he finds himself pressed into a 5-seater driving down to the bungalow with a few of his best mates, he thinks that maybe the night can’t get any better.

 

“Styles, you were on fire today. Your save with McKinley’s headshot literally had me teething,” Drew exclaims, pumping his fists in Harry’s direction.

 

“Someone had to since you were busy flopping your ass,” Louis snickers from Harry’s side. For being the smallest of them all, he sure packs fire when he’s on the field. Louis’ their pride and gem, their number one striker who is more than humble on numerous occasions, never gloating about the wins.

 

“Funny, Tomlinson. Being the best striker getting to your head?”

 

“Well, if you put it that way, surely no.” Everyone simultaneously bursts out laughing.

 

By the time Louis and Harry arrive, the bungalow is already packed, he can even see Liam pressed against the wall with a drink in one hand and brunette in the other. Harry crawls his way through the throng of people to the kitchen where the alcohol is situated. He pours himself a cup of beer – anything else would be tragic for the occasion – and looks around to find company.

 

The night passes away with him mingling with strangers and friends, since he never knows who and how people make it to their parties, but after ingesting a good amount of alcohol and one too many _you-did-great-high-fives_ Harry finds himself sitting outside on the sandy beach.

 

Harry was expecting it to be chilly like it usually is in late-October, but it’s actually quite nice outside. Other than the soft thump of music dispersing out of the house, the only sound engulfing him is the whistling wind as he sits cross-legged on the beach.

 

He once had a girlfriend who loved coming down to the beach, said something about the ocean calming her nerves, at the time Harry hadn’t exactly appreciated it but now he gets it. He _gets_ why people have the escapes they do. His relationships never really last. But the memories definitely stick. Plaguing his senses and giving him an appreciation for the person he was _with_. Too bad it’s after they leave.

 

He’s in-between reveling his moment of peace when a loud guffaw interrupts it, “c’mon! You promised me we’ll go see the turtles!”

 

He isn’t sure if people are even supposed to be on this side of the beach considering he was convinced it was private property. He readjusts his snapback and tries to focus in on where the sound is coming from.

 

“Horan, its past midnight and you’re so bloody annoying, can we please just go home?” another voice calls out.

 

The two blurry silhouettes come into sight as they approach Harry, his vision focusing in on the blonde headed boy.

 

“Look who I found! A person!” He says.

 

Along with his voice, his entire body is animated, reverberating a rhythm of its own as he leans down and smiles at Harry.

 

His face is a few inches away from Harry’s but he can clearly see how the oval face rounds out around the boy’s cheeks, curving into his chin. He has freckles spattered across his nose and cheeks, but what stands out the most – apart from the ruddiness of his cheeks and the soft pink of his lips – are his eyes. Pale blue irises trickled with gold encircling the pupils. They are piercing as they gaze down at Harry. It was as if the eyes themselves were boring into his soul and just for a second, _barely a second_ , he feels his heart stutter. Stuttering in the name of a stranger.

 

Pretty strangers with blue eyes. Pretty _boys_ with blue eyes.

 

“Heyo,” he waves his hand, “are you here to see the turtles too?” the boy asks, tilting his head a little and eyeing him curiously.

 

Harry shakes his head evidently distracted by the boy in front of him. He isn’t sure if this is supposed to happen? Does this happen to normal people? Do they get completely stumped and lose any kind of semblance they previously had? Not to mention Harry has never felt such a strong urge to reach out and pet someone’s head.

 

“Ni, stop bugging him. He seems very out of it,” the dark-haired boy speaks from his side. Trying his best to convince his friend to leave Harry alone. To be honest, Harry had forgotten he was there until now.

 

Harry swears he hears the blond protest an ‘ _I know him_ ’. “You have pretty eyes,” Harry confesses, his gaze fixated at the gold speckles scattered carelessly along the blue.

 

“Stop, you’re making me blush,” and the last thing Harry hears is a soft giggle before his surroundings dim to nothing but darkness and he passes out.

 

\--

 

“What does the note say this time?” the voices startles Harry. He jumps a little, expecting no one to find him in what has now come to be his ‘ _secret corner_ ’. But, alas, his hoax is up.

 

He turns to find Jade, someone who he once called one of his best friend’s, “nothing. Just looking for a book.”

 

“Don’t lie, Styles. I’ve been watching you come by for the past few weeks, always hiding in this corner. Figured something was up. Who knew you were out having a 1960’s romance?”

 

She’s just teasing, nothing more, but it doesn’t stop the tips of his ears and the span of his cheeks from heating up; he definitely looks like a tomato right about now. A tomato caught red-handed.

 

“I- it’s not a romance. Just some jokes,” he stutters. He’s completely butchering any chance at redemption he had.

 

Jade giggles in response making Harry even more confused and kind of worried. “I think it’s cute.”

 

Harry rolls his eyes not really annoyed but still kind of antsy about the whole situation. He doesn’t really want people finding about this, about the notes. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“So, do you know who it is?” she prods, leaning against the bookshelf.

 

“Nah, I wish.” Secretly though, Harry likes it being anonymous, but at the same time he’s curious to know who is the mystery person who has him laughing every week. Without fail.

 

“Well, whoever it is, sure has Harry Styles wrapped around their finger. Which is a first.”

 

Harry frowns at that, completely aware of his past mistakes, “Jade, I.”

 

Jade shrugs, standing up straight, “don’t have to explain anything to me, Harry.”

She proceeds to leave when Harry finally answers her question in place, “what do you call it when batman skips church?” he pauses only to look up and see if Jade is still there, “Christian bale!”

 

The small giggle stifled out of her on behalf of a stranger is something Harry tucks away as a precious memory; a memory that will _not_ be forgotten.

****

 

\--

 

They’ve been sitting on the bleachers for the past hour – _they as in Niall and Zayn_ – and the football

Team has yet to set foot on the field. It’s getting quite ridiculous, he understands a little delay, but an hour?

 

Who is late to their _own_ game? Have they ever heard of professionalism?

 

“For God’s sake Niall could you sit down?” Zayn complains, he’s wearing a hoodie one size two big and is nursing a coffee cup in his lap which at least to Niall looks freaking ridiculous, but he can’t help but grin because no matter how ridiculous he looks he looks cuter than anyone else in the stands. So, like it’s only reasonable to crouch down and pull the boy’s cheeks, no? Niall does exactly that.

 

“ _Ow!”_ Zayn squeals, “What did you do that for?”

 

“You look cute,” Niall shrugs, standing up again, camera in hand. He finally spots the coach entering through the gym doors, and sighs in relief that he will get the footage he was hoping for.

 

His sudden movement must’ve alerted Zayn because he finds the other boy perching over the metal railing, coffee now abandoned to his side.

 

Niall has two passions, as noted by his Da, Sports (football in particular) and filming. Ever since he was a little kid he had this habit of documenting every major event he went to or was part of.

 

At his footie games he always asked his Da to bring a camera to record his game or take pictures of his mates while they’re roughing after a game. In high school, when his bum knees gave out making him incapable of playing the sport he turned to his other passion.

 

Came home from the hospital with a heavy heart and misty eyes only to be surprised with a new camera, he can still hear his Da’s words ringing in his ears clear as day, “Me boy, there is nothing you can’t do. So, what if you can’t play footie no more? There is so much more you can. And that is up to you.”

 

Niall shakes his head at the memory, adjusting the camera’s zoom by turning the lens. Players are filing out of the doors in an assembly line in matching uniforms. Coordination and discipline is key when it comes to any sport, and despite their delay, they walk in sync with their heads down and shoulders stiff. Pressure on. Niall himself can feel the buzz coursing through him as he focuses his lens. After all, he’s most confident when he has a camcorder in hand and the field beneath his feet.

 

From the corner of his eyes he can see Zayn looking up at him, “if you stare at me all night, lover boy down there would get the wrong idea.”

 

“Nothing wrong with admiring my best mate while he’s in his zone.”

 

Niall smiles at that.

ii.

 

First dates are usually a breeze for Harry. Dress nice. Take some flowers, be polite and set the mood. Easy. Except he’s never been on a date with a boy, especially a boy he has yet to meet and converse with face to face. Harry asked Niall out over one of the notes. He thought implying a movie and pizza was good.

How does one even take boys out? I mean, he did say movie and pizza but what are the proper etiquettes? Are there even any? Sure, Liam’s brought guys back to their suite before but that doesn’t mean he knows the _how to dos_ and _what not to do’s_. It’s all fairly new. And overwhelming. Definitely overwhelming.

He reckons the right thing to do would be to just ask Liam for advice, but if Liam knows then Louis knows and if Louis knows then Eleanor knows – and sure the girl doesn’t gossip but the word does get out and Harry is not too keen on being outed by some newly recruited freshmen on the football team.

Hell no.

He is standing in front of the bathroom mirror fixing his hair for what seems like the hundredth time. _Middle part or side part? Which side?_

“Ahhhhhhhh, I give up!” he yells at his reflection, throwing his hands up in frustration. Suddenly the door to the bathroom opens and he finds Liam and Louis standing fully equipped.

“Where is it?” Louis asks, scanning the tiny space to the best of his ability. He has a bugs spray in hand and he is ready to pounce.

“YEAH WHERE IS THE MINGY MONSTER!” Liam hollers, a baseball bat in hand.

Harry can’t help but laugh at the boys, the sight being too comical. They’re barely dressed seeing as they both are in their pajamas and by the look of Louis’s hair it seems as if he was taking a nap.

“What the hell are you lot on about?” Harry finally asks, wiping away the tears in his eyes.

“We thought the creepy legged _fucker_ attacked you!” Liam explains.

“You mean the cockroach?” Harry says.

“yes!” he answers, his eyes bulging out looking like he can’t believe Harry even has to ask.

Harry would tell the two that he killed the bug the night before when he was brushing his teeth but that’d be too nice. Besides, it’s not every day you see joker and batman tag-teaming up against a common enemy. In their case a teeny tiny bug.

“Anyway, moving on to more important matters. How do I look?” Harry kind of twirls properly showing off his outfit. He is wearing dark-wash skinnies that are cutoff around his knees with a crewneck black sweater. Throw in a pair of his favorite brown boots and voila, he is ready.

Louis straightens up, leaning into Liam a little before saying, “whose funeral are we attending? Why wasn’t I told of this?”

Liam is already cracking up. “Thanks,” Harry supplies, rather spitefully.

Harry looks down giving his clothes a once over and frowns to himself. Maybe he should change. Harry is lost in his thoughts when Liam clears his throat, he’s holding one of Harry’s necklaces, “Put this on and your outfit is complete. You look really nice.” Harry hadn’t even realized Liam left to grab the piece of jewelry from his room.

“Thank you,” Harry says gratefully. He turns back to the mirror, putting on the necklace when he hears Liam says, “Part it to the left side.”

Once Harry is completely satisfied with how he looks and has dabbed a small amount of cologne he strolls out to the small living space. Generally, suites have two rooms and a living room with an attached make-do kitchen which is really just a fridge and sink along with some closets for storage purposes. It’s enough for a college student but sometimes he wishes he had opted to live in an apartment like some of his other friends, would give him proper privacy after all.

He’s putting on his boots when Louis pipes up, “ready for your date, Haz? Which unlucky bird are you after today?”

Harry pouts feigning offence at his friends comment, albeit being perfectly aware it’s all in good humor and not an actual jab, “You don’t know… _them_.” He finishes lamely trying his best not to give away the gender since the whole sexuality hurrah is still up in the air.

“Will she be visiting casa de styles?” Liam waggles his eyebrows, his face breaking out in a grin as if he’s made the joke of the century.

Though the anticipation of something more happening has him dumbfounded, looking down at his scuffed up boots he doesn’t get the time to answer before Louis launches into a rant. Looking heartbreakingly offended.

“Not fair that Haz gets the single room when I have to bunk up with you, Payno. Have a girlfriend and all for Christ sake.”

Liam smiles a little, “would’ve rather have me dropout instead of Ian then?”

“No,” Louis says slightly affronted although his tone makes it seem as if he’s hurt by Liam’s accusations, “I meant, Harry could’ve also taken the fall after Ian left. Perform a whole roommate sacrificial thing.”

“How cute, does Eleanor know you’re sucking Liam’s dick when she’s off frolicking,” Harry teases seeing as Liam and Louis are wrapped around each other.

Louis, obviously not pleased, throws a pillow Harry’s way which he misses, “Fuck off.”

“Gladly,” Harry says, pulling down the door handle and leaving his friends to busy themselves with whatever was on the television.

\--

Niall is sitting on the couch playing zombies with some of his online friends when Zayn walks in, coming to stand in front of the telly screen with his arms crossed, “what are you doing? Better question, what the hell are you wearing?”

“Playing Call of Duty which you by the way are clearly interrupting,” he says, pausing to angle his head to the side so he can get a better view, “and to answer your other question, chillin’ in me trackies.”

Zayn is clearly not amused because he pulls out the cord just as Niall gets a sub-machine gun, too bad the screen blackouts right before he shoots the zombie in the head.

“What’d you do that fo’?” Niall huffs irritably. He was so close to level 37 too! He has never reached that far!

Zayn makes a show of ignoring him, despondently asking, “Niall, what if he does show up?”

Niall shrugs. “If he can’t have me at me worst then he doesn’t deserve me at me best.”

He’s more relaxed than he should be but what are the chances of _THE HARRY STYLES: FOOTBALL STAR_ showing up at his doorstep. The night’s probably going to end with Niall ordering a large pizza that he’ll split between Zayn and himself.

“What is this date even supposed to entail?” Zayn asks curiously, toeing off his shoes near the now deflated bean bag – at the time it was a funny idea to poke holes in it with a stick they had found on their walk back to the flat but evidently any decision made when they’re drunk off their arses is _not_ the best.

“Pizza and Netflix, the usual.”

Niall has seen Zayn get mad twice in his life. Once when they drove back to Bradford to beat some kid’s arse who had broken Doniya’s heart (turns out it was all a joke to get Zayn to come back home for a visit) and the second was when Niall was pushed to the ground at a Years & Years concert. Small Spaces + Loads of People = A Very Very Claustrophobic Niall.

Thankfully, the guy who had pushed him down had this terribly apologetic look on his face and sputtered out at least a _thousand_ sorrys so Zayn didn’t have to punch his nose or something.

Hence, Zayn donning an overprotective mode regarding Harry is clearly warranted. Something about jocks and their preceding reputation about breaking hearts has him worried.

“you told him pizza and Netflix? You know that really means sex, right?” Zayn says disbelievingly like he can’t fathom the fact that Niall is so oblivious. Niall isn’t but pushing Zayn’s buttons are more fun so instead of giving a proper reason he argues, “No, Z! It MEANS pizza and Netflix.” Emphasizing on the _means_ more than necessary.

“You bleeding idiot! THAT’S NOT WHAT HE THINKS,” Zayn responds defensively.

Niall shrugs, again, he really has a bad habit of it, “well, too bad.”

“You’re ridiculous. First you invite over a boy giving him the wrong impression and then you don’t even change into something more date-like. You’re crazy, y’know?”

Niall pats Zayn’s knees, “Z, he probably won’t even show up.” Fate must think its funny cause just then they hear a knock on the front door.

Zayn jumps up excitedly, letting out a cackle and skipping to his room, “I told you so!”

“Fuck you, Malik.”

\--

 

 _1201 lincoln street apt #2A_. Harry crumples up the piece of paper that has the address of it and shoves it in his back pocket. He is standing outside the said apartment, a wooden door with the letter 2A neatly pressed into a metal plaque is staring back at him. He wipes down his sweaty palms on his denim covered thighs trying to rid himself of the nervousness, it’s almost like how he is before a football game. Clammy hands, heavy throat and hazy vision. Sure, it isn’t the best feeling but he has always taken it as more of reminder of how important the task at hand is. Right now, it’s the task of impressing the person that is behind closed doors.

Harry pats his back pocket one more time making sure he has his wallet and the condom he keeps with him _just in case_. He’s not expecting much, it is their first time after all – meeting and other things – but he still wants to be prepared. _If’s_ are important to remember.

He gently taps on the hollow case – _not wood then –_ and waits patiently for his date to answer. He can hear rustling on the other end. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but when a blonde about his height and age opens the door, smiling ever-so brilliantly he’s kind of left blindsided.

Harry can’t help but notice how causally the other boy is dressed, sweatpants slung low on his hips topped off with a tank top with a picture of Kanye West captioned _YEEZUS._ He would laugh because despite the lack of effort on the other’s behalf the shirt is quite funny.

The boy stares at Harry as if he’s waiting for some sort of conversation only to shift his gaze down to his boots to jeans to sweater, taking his time to scrutinize Harry’s outfit.  Harry shifts a little, leaning away from the door, slightly uncomfortable under the stranger’s intense gaze. “Hi,” he breathes out.

Surprisingly, the other boy breaks out in a smile again letting out a throaty laugh. He sings-songs his own greeting, “’ello.”

Harry can’t help but mirror the smile himself a wave of relief washing over him as he admires the boy. He has soft, fluffy hair lying effortlessly across his forehead. Makes Harry want to run his hand through them.

“Lookin’ for someone?” a heavy Irish lilt lacing his accent.

“’m Harry,” he pushes his hand forward as a reflex, something he is used to doing before football matches as he greets his opposition. He kind of wants to smack himself on the head. Why does he have to make it all formal?

Niall’s eyes widen, realization of why Harry is present on his doorstep kicking in. He can almost see the cogs turning because in the 5 minutes that he has spent awkwardly standing in the hallway looking at this boy, he has learned that he is full of expressions that all seem to bring this twinkle to his eyes. Accentuating his blue eyes more than they should. Making Harry’s heart flutter in more than one way.

Niall takes his hand pulling him into a friendly hug, “Jesus should’ve said something.”

They’re now inside the apartment the door closed behind them as Niall leads them to the living room. “’m Niall by the way.” He turns once again shooting one his blinding smiles, “I guess, you can also call me your resident joker”

Harry laughs, a little louder than he intended, but he quickly covers it up with a hand, ‘nice place you got here.”

Niall shrugs, “thanks, couldn’t bear living on campus after freshmen year. So moved in here my second year with me mate.”

Harry nods, pausing to repeat Niall’s words in his head, “wait, you’re not a second year?” _Please don’t say senior. Please._

“Third year.” _Thank god_.

Harry sighs in relief, “so ready for the movie?”

Okay, now Harry doesn’t exactly remember what he scribbled onto the piece of paper he left in the library 4 days ago but what he does remember he meant it to be _a date_. A date where he potentially takes Niall out for movies and pizza. But what happens next is nothing what he imagine.

Niall claps his hands in excitement his body becoming visibly more excited, “Fuck, yes! I picked out this new documentary critics have been raving about!”

Harry swears he can see the boy hopping like an energizer bunny, one huge step at a time, as he prances towards the telly that is connected to a small black box reminds him of a DVR. Niall searches the shelves for a CD case, carefully plucking a silver disk out and popping it into the device. Grabbing the remote while he’s at it.

Harry must’ve been staring because Niall turns to look at him an expression of disbelief, “why are you still standing there? Come on! Pop a squat!”

Alright, this isn’t really how he had imagined the night going down. But he can’t complain, especially after seeing how excited Niall is. He can still be his charming self and potentially get the point across just like Grimmy says _styles you can charm the pants off a dead person if you have to!_

Luckily, Niall’s alive.

They both sit on the couch facing the telly, it is comfy but you can tell that it’s old since the cushions are worn out and there are stains on the armrest. But it’s nice. Best part being is its size which leaves little to no room between the two boys, especially since Niall has his legs up sitting in a criss cross position. Harry’s feet are planted to the ground partly due to nervousness and partly because he doesn’t want to seem overly comfortable and place them on the table in front of them.

The initial credits start rolling when Niall shifts a little, “I can’t believe we’re about to watch this. This is going to be amazing. Did you know a lot of interviewee’s said that their words were manipulated to support the plot of the film? Something about how it was a play at direction.”

Harry shakes head still kind of confused what the entire thing is about, “so, what exactly is this about? Like, I get it’s a documentary and all but I don’t really get the ti-” Harry is interrupted with a finger to his lips.

Niall is smiling. And honestly, this movie could be about puppies dying and he’d still be happy. Okay, maybe fish dying cause blackfish. Technicalities. Whatever.

Niall tilts his head a bit, “how about we watch it, yeah? Then I’ll answer all your questions.” It sounds like a promise.

An hour and 23 minutes is all it takes for Harry’s mood to switch from _I’m ready for some first date feels_ to _why the fuck do humans suck and how can he fight SeaWorld_.  He can feel the tears flowing down his cheeks the thought of the whales being kept in captivity and Dawn’s death has left him speechless.

He seems to be in a daze when he hears the muffled sob coming from his side. He turns to look at him and finds Niall mirroring Harry’s glum appearance, tears trickling down his now ruddy cheeks as he wails out a cry, “why are people so mean?”

The wise thing to have done would be console Niall and come out as the hero in a shining armor but seeing the blond so obviously moved and hurt shoots Harry straight in heart and he starts crying as well. “Screw people! Poor baby whales!”

“I want to fight SeaWorld.”

“me too,” Harry says. They are facing each other now. Harry knows he’s an ugly crier, his sister Gemma would tease him about it when they were younger which is why he stopped crying in front of people. He can’t believe a stupid documentary has him all putty and wrecked, what kind of karmic sorcery is this?

“Do you think…” Niall says, pausing to hiccup, “they are less harsh now?”

Harry nods, “I hope. Or else I’m booking my next flight to the states.”

“I’ll come with.” Harry ignores the way his heart skips a beat at that, how simple, they’ve known each other for less than 2 months and Harry can’t help but experience all these emotions.

He must’ve waited too long to reply, Niall’s cackle jolting him out of his trance as he busies to collect himself – and his thoughts that are always following him.

“Look at us,” he sniffs, grabbing the tissues box from the bean bag behind him and pulling out a couple for himself and Harry, “grown boys crying over fish dying.”

Harry rubs his cheeks wiping away the tears and breaks out in laughter which jumpstarts Niall’s adorable squall and he swears that their voices are echoing in the apartment but he is too happy to care. Niall’s lips and cheeks are now sporting the same color, a tinted red that looks glossy under the lamp light that is standing upright behind him; the blue of his eyes is smiling – _yes smiling_ ; and his hair looks so soft.

The laughter dies down, both boys trying to catch their breath and Harry can’t help but lick his lips, the nervous sting returning as he looks at Niall. Sadly, before he can lean in and convey whatever he is feeling the doorbell rings.

Niall immediately jolts out of a familiar daze, “must be the pizza.”

“Right,” Harry says.  


“Probably should get it,” Niall says, inching forward and okay what? The bell rings again and Niall stands up, abandoning his spot by Harry and shouting, “coming.”

Harry sits there going over the past few seconds, memorizing the way Niall’s body had moved towards him and maybe asked for something? Was he imagining it? Harry hears the door close remembering that he had intended on paying for the pizza, hurriedly getting off the couch and sprinting towards the front door. Thankfully, the delivery girl is still there.

“That’d be 12.95,” she says, batting her eyelashes at Niall which he is either too oblivious to notice or is doing a great job at ignoring.

Harry rushes to take out his wallet yanking out a 20 pound bill and shoving it in the girl’s hand. “Here!”

Niall looks slightly startled, “mate, I got it?”

Harry waves him off, shrugging, “my treat.” The girl returns the change and tries to hand over the pizza boxes while Harry’s shoving the money in his wallet. He hears a thud guessing a penny or somewhat slipped out of his wallet as he reaches out to hold the pizza.

“I think you dropped something,” the girl points and Harry can’t exactly see from where he’s standing so Niall leans over to pick it up. And that’s when it kicks in. _shit_

Niall straightens up holding the silver foil packet. “I should be off then! Enjoy!” he hears the girl call out but honestly at this point he isn’t sure why he hasn’t dug himself a grave because tonight couldn’t get more embarrassing for him.

Harry’s fully aware of how red his face must be because he can feel the heat of his cheeks, his face burning, “I can explain.”

Niall is still smiling – something that Harry has learned in the past hour is hard to get rid of -, “you have a date tonight? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit, I made you stay here all this time!”

Harry can’t believe how massive of an idiot he is, of course Pizza and Movie scribbled on a piece of paper in no ways imply that he is in fact asking Niall out on a date. He should’ve been clearer.

He sighs, “no, just keep it. _In case of emergency_ , ya know?”

Niall arches a brow, a toothy grin on display, “Mr. Styles, you sure do live up to your reputation.”

Harry’s taken aback by Niall’s comment and unsure of where Niall knows him from, “wait, what do you mean?”

“Oh, you know!” Niall says.

\--

 

“Footie with the art students? I’m confused, did I sign up for some bonding shit lesson when we became friends or?” Louis sneers, pulling down his beanie.

Harry knows there’s no bite to his words and he’s just taking the piss but he can’t help but glare at him. It’s the first time he’s bringing Zayn and Niall round and he really wants them to be friends with Louis and Liam, which shouldn’t be too hard since Liam can befriend a rock it’s just Louis and his tongue that doesn’t seem to know when it should stop with the snide remarks.

“It’s either this or,” Harry warns, looking over his shoulder to see if Eleanor and Liam are still busy talking, “I tell Eleanor about New Year’s 2k13.”

Louis stops in shock, mouth agape with incredulity, “first off, who the fuck says ‘ _2K13’_? You sound like a twat.” To which Harry pouts. “And you wouldn’t dare.”

Harry grins, “watch me,” turning and waving a hand to Eleanor, “hey, El have some-” Louis shoves a hand over Harry’s mouth silencing him so he can’t speak. For someone who is considerably smaller than him he can sure hold his ground.

Eleanor walks up to them, hands in her coat, “said something, love? Lou let him go.” She swats his arm away and Louis let’s go of Harry, “is he bothering you?”

“Actually, yes!” Harry pipes, but Louis pulls him into a side-hug.  “Nothing just telling Haz here how pretty you look in that coat, El.”

She rolls her eyes, it must be some kind of prerequisite to be in a relationship with Louis, “of course, I do.”

Harry has seen numerous couples but none like Louis and Eleanor because despite Louis’ loud and snippy personality he seems to become a puddle of _mush_ , in the words of Liam Payne, whenever he’s around his girlfriend. So, it’s only expected when Louis leaves his side he practically envelops the girl in his arms. It’s sickeningly cute.

“can we get a move on?” Liam clears his throat.

They are supposed to meet Niall and Zayn at the field since it would’ve been a hassle to go to their place first seeing as they live off-campus.

Harry can feel the thrumming of his veins, the familiar buzz he gets when he’s near the course and he can’t help but grin. To his knowledge this is the first time Niall will be seeing him in his element and if Harry can help it he’s going to be a proper show off. Niall’s words ringing in his ears like a motivation of its own _athletes are my weakness they just get it you know?_ Harry does. Or so he hopes.

They walk into an empty field save two familiar bodies leaning against the railing that runs the perimeter of the field. Harry suddenly feels a new kind of rush, the kind he only gets when he spots the blond. He breaks apart from the rest running towards him, a smile on his face.

“Niall!” he calls out coming to halt right behind the boy. Niall turns to face him with his notable smile; something Harry can never get tired of.

“Hi,” he breathes out simply.

“How are you?” Harry asks.

To which Zayn answers in Niall’s stead, “chilly.”

Harry laughs pulling Zayn into a hug, hearing the footsteps approaching behind him, “gonna introduce us, Harold?”

“Oh, shit, yeah,” if Niall giggled at that Harry mentally gives himself a pat on the back, “guys, this is Niall.” Pointing at the blonde and then moves to point at Zayn, “and this is Zayn his best friend.”

He introduces Eleanor, Liam and Louis respectively – saving the worst for last – and pretends to ignore the way Liam’s hand lingers a little longer than necessary when he greets Zayn. He will have to ask about _that_ later.

They shed off any extra layers leaving their kit on and proceed to map out a game plan. It’s mostly a pick–up game but knowing Louis it might turn into one of those _healthy competition_ things and since that is more than likely to happen Harry rather stay on Niall’s side you know to build up brownie points.

“Alright, the arties can have Harold and we’ll take El,” Louis says.

Harry is ready to switch sides already moving to where Niall and Zayn are standing when Niall speaks up, “Actually, we’d like _if_ of course it’s okay with Eleanor that she is on our team.”

If Harry could take a picture of the way Louis’s eyes grow one size too big he would, “uh, are you sure, Ni?”

Niall nods. “I don’t mind!” Eleanor chirps, skipping to Zayn’s side.

“Alright the, suit yourself then,” Louis says.

Football is a game that requires a lot of feet coordination, no over-stepping, cross footing etc. Being aware of one’s peripherals is another key factor especially when the defense is trying to protect their goal. Strikers are the main offense of the team; the one’s aiming for the goals. Hence, Louis is the one who is mainly in control of the ball.

Forty minutes into the game and no one has scored yet. Harry can see Louis’s shoulders stiffening, his body language doing a complete 180. He hadn’t expected Zayn and Niall to be so synchronized tag teaming against him and Liam - especially since distracting Liam has been easier than one would have hoped; _seriously what the heck is going on between him and Zayn?_

Niall snatches the ball from Louis’ control again, side stepping him and dribbling it towards the goal post. Louis rushes to his side trying to steal the ball but Niall jukes him by rolling the ball behind and turning only slightly to shield it. The back and forth goes on for a bit until Niall reaches the goal. Harry squats, assuming position and ready to defend the goal.

Now Louis likes to say that Harry gave in on purpose, or that even at that point of time he was so fucking enamored that his common sense betrayed him and he started thinking with his dick instead of his head. Not that Louis is holding that over him and makes him clean the bathroom every Saturday, but in Harry’s defense he is a 100% sure he didn’t see it coming. He just remembers Niall kicking the ball and it landing in the net. Besides, Louis was right there he could’ve done something as well.

“I can’t believe this,” Louis says, slightly frustrated at the outcome of the game. Harry really didn’t want this, Louis not liking nail could be catastrophically horrible.

Niall sits up, his palms flat on the ground as he leans onto them, “Fuckin’ brilliant you are, Tommo.”  


Everyone is shocked into silence instead of Louis. Harry expected him to be mad and scream his head off but he’s smiling. Like _proper_ smiling.

Louis preens under Niall’s compliment, offering him a hand to lift him off the ground, “not too yourself. Ya sure you got bum knees? Cause the team could use you.”

Niall chortles out a ‘no’ complaining about how is knee is already aching. They spent the rest of the way back to their dorm chatting away about favorite teams and players. Guess, luck was on Harry’s side this time.

Winter break comes and goes in a blur. Harry drives down to Cheshire to celebrate the holidays with his family, Gemma coming down from London to join the festivities, his mother making his favorite red velvet cake on Christmas Eve and him spiking the eggnog on Christmas day; spending his night on the roof – just like every year. He goes back to school early since he always spends New Year’s with Louis and Liam. Been a tradition since 2013. It’s their thing, you know? They stay in for the better part of the day and get drunk off the liquor El bought them which they carefully store under the sink behind detergent and dishwashing soap. Can’t have their dorm advisor finding it – they are of age but athletes have this strict policy/contract they sign and blah blah blah.

Though that’s not the only reason why Harry’s looking forward to being on campus again. This time he has a new friend, _Niall,_ whom he can spend time with. Niall went to Ireland for the Christmas weekend and came back early because he has to complete his third year film project. Something which he asked Harry’s help for.

Apparently, he’s making some sort of documentary for which he needs footage of Harry playing during a game and while he’s practicing on his own. So, it’s only appropriate to break into school property and, well, _film_.

Harry is seeing Niall after a proper month though, they didn’t really hang around finals – although Niall still somehow managed to slip a new joke in every day in what is now Harry’s favorite book: _THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO_.

He can sense the beat of his heart picking up as he nears the field, gloved hands shoved in his jacket. He realizes that this is far from normal. Having a reaction just at the mention of someone’s name or thought surely needs some kind of attention. It’s not that he hasn’t been thinking about it because he has, for the past month the only thing harassing his thoughts is _what is exactly Niall to him?_ Louis’ warning isn’t far behind echoing a reminder _deal with whatever this crisis is AFTER season is over capeesh?_

He chanced upon Harry and Niall’s little notes while Harry was in class and Louis was searching for his copy of Antigone that he had left in his room. He was agitated because if anything is more important to Louis Tomlinson more than – or maybe just as – Eleanor and Harry and his family, its football. But thankfully Harry was able to convince him that he’ll deal with his personal issues after season was over. At this rate, he isn’t too sure how much truth the statement held.

Niall is sitting on the ground with his head down picking at his cut-off skinnies. His hair is styled up and even from where Harry is he can see a silver necklace adorning his neck, resting on his pecs. He’s wearing a white t-shirt topped off with a hoodie and honestly Harry doesn’t know what Niall is thinking because its fucking freezing and the kid barely has any layers on. Meanwhile, Harry is dressed in a peacoat and a sweater and a scarf around his neck.

“You must love freezing your balls off?” Harry questions out aloud slightly irritated, slightly worried.

“’nothin’ an Irishmen can’t handle,” niall replies calmly. He isn’t surprised at Harry’s arrival. The look on his face tells he was expecting him. The trek their way onto the field, Harry having a spare key that let them in. They’re not exactly supposed to be there but common sense is out the window at this point.

Harry leans against the goal post, popping his hip out a bit and leaves his mouth slightly agape. He’s going for proper seductive if someone asks him. That’s what proper film subjects do, right? Pose that is.

Niall isn’t really paying attention just pushing buttons on his camcorder - messing around with the settings, Harry assumes. Harry shifts a little resting his head on the cold metal. It smells like rust and damp grass just as he imagined. Comforting to say the least especially since he has a huge lens staring at him. Yikes.

Niall looks up taking in Harry’s model pose per say and arches an eyebrow, “the fuck are you doing?”

Harry pushes himself off the post, standing completely straight. “Uhh,” he pauses, no thought going into what he says next, “Google earth. Y’know? Always taking pictures.” He waves off Niall nonchalantly. Trying his hardest to not let the other boy know how embarrassed he is.

“So, like, what do you want me to do? Like, urm, yeah.” Subtle.

“Posing like a GQ model would work. Just pout a little, slip off your t-shirt or pop open a few buttons and sensually drag your hand across your rock hard abs,” Niall says, nodding thoughtfully.

Harry nods, sensing the seriousness in his tone and goes to pull off his jersey. Once Harry has pulled the shirt over his head and chucked it on the ground he feels the cold wind bite into his skin – the things he does for his friends.

Harry look backs at Niall, “alri, what.” But stops short.

Niall is clutching onto his stomach with one hand and the other over his mouth trying to contain his laugh. _Oh my god, not again_.

The camcorder no longer wrapped around his fingers instead resting on top of its black case.

“You’re so fucking gullible,” Niall says, wiping his teary eyes, “I could’ve made you pose for hours and you’d have went along with it.”

Harry throws his hands in the air exasperatedly, “how am I supposed to know how movies work?”

He can feel the blush creeping up his neck – possibly blooming all over his exposed chest – but something about the entire situation has him smiling. Maybe it’s Niall’s mirthful laughter ringing in his ear, or the sense of pride he feels for eliciting such a reaction out of the older boy; whatever it is, it has him smiling.

“Harry, what is my major? Niall asks, eyes dancing with amusement. They’re pretty. Big, blue and pretty. Contrasting perfectly with bright blonde quiff.

Harry mumbles, voice barely audible, “Film with a concentration in documentaries.”

Niall crosses his arms over his chest. Is he cold?

 “And how many sports documentaries have you seen where the players are naked and posing?” He grins.

Harry purses his lips, stepping forward to push Niall, “you wanker!”

Instead, Niall ducks making Harry lose his balance. Niall takes this as an opportunity to seize Harry’s shirt and makes a run for it.

“Hey! Give _me_ back my shirt!” Harry yells after him.

They run in circles around each other, Niall faster than Harry had originally thought. The temperature is dropping as minutes pass and if the goosebumps on Harry’s skin are anything to go by he needs his shirt otherwise he potentially may get sick. Something which he doesn’t want right before the season starts.

“Niall, please. I’m cold,” Harry says shivering.

Niall comes to an abrupt halt much to Harry’s surprise causing both boys to run into each other and topple onto the dewy grass.  Niall is aligned with the course while Harry’s cheek is smashed onto his chest, their legs entangled due to their fall. Harry hoists himself up, arms on each side of Niall’s head, looking down at the older boy.

The close proximity of their bodies sends his mind reeling, his cheeks aflame as he breathes out the same air Niall breathes in. The little puffs visible thanks to the acutely cold weather yet the heat tracing every inch of his body has him sweating. He tries to summon the will to lift himself off the boy but the weighing silence is tempting not to mention that the cerulean blue has captured his attention. His line of vision blurred by the gold specks that dance along the blue.

Is that even possible? Is it even allowed to be so effortlessly _pretty_? Harry knows he’s treading dangerously close to the box of questions he’s been avoiding, things he’s putting off and not addressing because instead of wasting brain cells over _why_ he feels a certain way he rather spend that time enjoying a very pretty blonde’s company.

Niall breaks through his thought process by clearing his throat, “Harry, I am going to do something. Tell me if it’s ok, yeah?”

Harry nods.

Niall reaches up cupping Harry’s jaw, pulling him down and pressing their lips together. Harry’s unresponsive at first, his lips numb against Niall’s cold ones but once he feels Niall tracing his collarbone with his free hand a spark goes off. Harry kisses him back. It’s gentle and not rushed in the slightest, their mouths melting against one another as Harry anchors himself against Niall, kneading his knuckles into the ground and his other hand loosely griping on to Niall’s hoodie.

Niall breaks the kiss just as he had started it: unexpectedly.  Harry’s left savoring the moment, his eyes closed as he breathes in the last few seconds. He can feel the butterflies flittering in his tummy, leaving behind a blissful sensation that he’s never felt before. It’s odd. Harry thought he was done with his many _firsts_ yet here he is lying on wet grass, making out with a boy he chanced upon meeting.

He opens his eyes to a brilliant smile. And just as casually Niall had kissed Harry he says, “Probably should put on a tee and get this over with?”

Harry agrees.

 

There’s a fine line between knowing and acknowledging. Usually, the two go hand in hand because once you know something you acknowledge it and when you acknowledge something you know it. To Harry’s dismay that isn’t the case. He’s mastered the art of procrastinating _especially_ when it comes to his feelings – more importantly towards a certain sex. He might be having some mid-life sexuality crisis and he isn’t really sure how to deal with it.

On top of the niggling thoughts at the back of his mind he had to be exceptionally patient this week. Apparently the second week of January is also known as _NIALL WILL BE GONE CAUSE FILM FESTIVAL_. Aka Harry is deprived and upset. If his head isn’t in the game it’s not _his_ fault.

 

The Coach shouts, “Styles. Keep your focus! This is the fourth time you’ve let a goal happen.”

Harry shakes his head, slapping his face and jolting himself out of his thoughts. He resumes position and waits for Louis to dribble the ball towards him. _He can do this_.

He misses the ball again.

Harry’s folding away his dirty clothes, carefully putting them in a plastic bag, when Louis comes rushing in to the locker room. Without any hesitation he slams Harry into the lockers, his palms colliding with Harry’s chest in one swift movement leaving Harry startled.

“ _Ouch_ ,” Harry squeals, rubbing at his arm as he straighten himself against the lockers, “What did you do that for?”

The look on Louis’ face answers his queries. The boy looks furious. His shoulders heaving as he pants out a grunt, eyes glazed with anger and mouth set in a straight line. Harry has done this before. He knows what this is.

“I fuckin’ told you to stop pansying around. Season starts tomorrow, Harry. _Tomorrow_.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry says defensively.

“I don’t know you tell me. If your performance on the field is anything to go by then you don’t.”

The dramatics is enough to have everyone in the small room settle down, encircling around Louis and Harry as they exchange a few words. The previous clanking of the metal doors have died down only to be taken over by the not-so-subtle whispers.

“Sod off!” Harry pushes Louis with a little force, “who the hell do you think you are to come in here and tell me what _I_ am doing wrong?” If only Harry left it at that. “No wonder Coach didn’t pick you to be Captain.”

That catches Louis off-guard, he stumbles backwards into Liam, his hands curling into a fist.

Liam finally speaks up, “Haz, don’t be a twat. Lou’s right. Your focus is elsewhere and that isn’t helping the team. We need you.”

Liam otherwise known as the voice of _reason_ is right but Harry’s irrationally irate and hence, all he hears is Liam defending Louis over him. “So, you’ve opted to be Louis’s bodyguard this round? ‘s not my fault that he’s all bark and no bite.”

Liam frowns. His forehead doing that creasing thing that happens when he is properly upset and Harry would feel like shit but Louis has other plans, “Forget it, Li. The blondie must have a huge dick for Harry to forget who his real friends are.”

The locker is eerily silent. The spectators appalled at the scene unfolding before them. And then without missing a beat, Harry’s fist collides with Louis’s jaw. Harry doesn’t really know what happens next, one second Louis is on the floor cradling his face the other he pounces at Harry landing a punch to his eye. It’s only when Andy and Luke join Liam to break the fight that everything is settled. Liam drags Louis out of the room, his hand holding on to Louis’ elbow as he marches out.

Andy rubs at Harry’s back in a circular motion trying his best to calm him but it only aggravates him further. _He just hit his best friend of 12 years. His best friend._

There first game goes smoothly much to everyone’s surprise. Even though Harry and Louis are stubborn and refuse to talk to each other their professionalism and love for the sport is greater than a feud that is waiting to be dissipated.

Harry sees Niall on Saturday, a day after their first game, the film festival still hasn’t ended but Niall had some free time so he told Harry to meet him at the quaint coffee shop down the street from their Uni It’s very cozy looking, small lanterns hanging from the ceiling and a mural painted on the back wall –definitely a place where film majors hang out. Niall not so much.

Harry finds Niall tucked away in the corner booth, coffee in one hand and a small pamphlet in the other. The large frames casing his face make him look _different_. More mature, Harry supposes. He’s seated next to couple of different people, a red head with more piercings harry can count – and this just on her face – a tall boy who’s wincing at something the redhead at said, and lastly, a gorgeous brunette who’s leaning into Niall’s space as she reads the pamphlet he is holding. Harry suddenly feel discomfort, his stomach uneasy as he swallows the growing saliva in his mouth.

“Hey,” He waves awkwardly, letting his presence known. He swears he’s hallucinating when he sees Niall lighten up, flashing his bright smile at Harry and possibly temporarily blinding him. To think Harry can coax out such an expression from him leaves him giddy.

He slots himself in between the brunette, Amy he learns, and Niall. They’re talking about the movies that were screened the past week and which one was their favorite and which wasn’t, “Personally, I think 3 ½ minutes was the best. Silver did an amazing job, the whole concept of institutionalized racism wasn’t just a subplot or a device used to illicit pain but instead it was the over-arching theme of the movie.”

Niall nods in agreement, “Yeah, it was fantastic. Though the one we saw after that was shit. The director needs to me a personal apology letter for it.”

The red head, Emily, snickers, “Oh please Niall. You’re probably still crying that they didn’t play the hangover or something. Do you need a reminder of what your favorite movie is?”

Kyle mimics Niall, “You call this humor? I’ll show you humor! And then you’ll pull out a 1000 copies of-” but before he can finish Niall interrupts, “ _fuck off!_  Have you already forgotten that Mr. Mitchell called _me_ his best student and none of you lot?”

Kyle raises his hands defensively and they move on to their usual chatter.

Niall doesn’t ask about the yellowish bruise around Harry’s eye instead he slips his fingers in Harry’s. Friends do that right, Harry ponders. Are him and Niall friends? He’s not too sure anymore.

\--

“you completely live up to your major don’t you?” Harry says from where he is seated on Niall’s bed. His legs spread over the properly made sheets. He’s cradling his head in his hands while Niall sorts out his unbound collection of DVD’s.

Niall likes owning films. Something about the ownership gives him a sense of finality – like yes, he _did_ see the movie. He’s all for movie streaming sites like Netflix but the idea of owning a movie that has left him thinking or, even, made a pocket in the vessel where he likes to store the little tidbits he has learned over the years or memories of scenes that seem more like real life than fictional sequences exhibited to him on over pixelated screens.

Niall is scouring through his stacks of DVD’s to find his favorite movie. Surprisingly, it’s not a documentary and to this day he gets heat from his fellow peers regarding his choice of film but the heart wants what the heart wants. Critically acclaimed or not.

“Why do you say that?” he pushes the bridge of his glasses.

“For starters you’re currently drowning in movies so I think it’s pretty safe to assume you live up to the stereotypes,” Harry giggles, it’s slightly high-pitched unlike his otherwise low-sultry voice. Amazing how the boy can range from sounding like a five year old to a deep voiced footie player that he is. Niall forgets that at times.

“Wasn’t it you who wanted to see my DVD collection?” Niall arches an eyebrow teasingly.

Harry rolls his eyes, “I did but this is taking far too long. What is your favorite movie anyway? And how come it’s not the first one in the pile?”

Niall sighs, “Because, sadly, I allowed Zayn to borrow it for his impromptu date and now I can’t find it.” He takes in another deep breath, his palms getting clammy as he goes over what he is going to say next, “its Space Jam.”

Harry’s eyes bulge out in shock, one of his hands slipping making his face land on the pillow. “ _You_. A film major. Someone who is supposed to thrive off pretentious movies and cinematic masterpieces likes Space Jam?”

Niall shrugs. “I know I know it’s a shame to my major but I love Jessica Rabbit.”

“It’s a movie about fucking looney toons, Niall.”

“But the protagonist has killer punchlines, screenplay is well-thought out, and not to mention for a movie made in late nineties the rack focusing is phenomenal!”

Niall closes his eyes in anticipation of laughter which doesn’t come. Harry is fondly staring at him when Niall opens his eyes, the small dents on his cheeks appearing. Niall gets the slightest urge to reach out and poke them, settle his pointer finger in to the crevice of his smile and trace its way to his lips.

Niall’s never been one to compartmentalize his feelings. People have tried, despite Zayn’s incessant intrusions, to screw him over when it comes to feelings and relationship but thankfully he’s mostly been lucky. Alas, there is always a ‘but’ and his was _Jake_. The soccer team heartthrob who thought a trophy girlfriend wasn’t enough. He’s graduated now, off in the real world. Doesn’t mean he didn’t leave behind memories. It doesn’t bother him nor did it misconstrue his opinions of athletes but it did make Zayn overly cautious. If Niall has a can of pepper spray and a Taser sitting in the bottom drawers of his dresser then only Zayn is to blame.

“It’s cute,” Harry says. “I like that your favorite movie is Space Jam.”

Niall can feel the heat in his cheeks, “anything else you wanna know?”

Harry screws up his face as he concentrates, trying to concoct more questions that he can ask his new friend. And just like that a light bulb goes off, “Why the Communist Manifesto?”

Niall bursts out laughing, thoroughly amazed by Harry’s curiosity, “two things. No one opens that book unless they’re trying to prove the dude wrong, two I like fuckin’ with people’s heads and making them think that secretly I’m pushing the socialist agenda and will be doing so in my future work.”

Harry smirks, “I’m frightened and amused at the same time.”

\--

Harry’s known for plenty of things, stumbling over his words, having an eccentric personality, tripping over thin air and his eclectic taste buds. What Harry is not known for is stuttering while flirting, eliciting his high-pitched squall in front of someone he may potentially be harboring a crush towards, and definitely not notorious for bringing that particular crush out to celebratory drinks after a big game.

 So, finding Niall bouncing away in the Pub with his phone in hand – detachable camera on, mind you – he feels an odd sensation blooming away in his chest. The beat of his heart dizzy from the joy brought on by the blue-eyed boy.

The itch under his skin foregone as he settles into his element, not shying away from who he is and what he wants. Saying that Niall was able to induce this comfortability within him wouldn’t be too far from the truth but the question that is still left hanging is _why_. He’s always had friends, whether it be in primary school when he was busy trying on his mother’s oversized bras or secondary school when he was blessed with horrible acne.  Not to mentions he’s never had to worry about significant others – sometimes even more than one at a time. Then why is it that only now he feels completely _whole_.

Niall totters over to where Drew is sitting – a table over from Harry – a pint in hand and the other around Andy who is guzzling down his beer like it’s a glass of water. Harry leans his elbows on the table propping his chin up with the palms of his right hand – the other lying flat against the faux wood.

Niall focuses the phone in Drew’s face, tilting his head a little to the left so he has clear view of the boy’s face. “Drew Rivers, the star of tonight’s game, how do you feel?” Niall asks, his voice having a slight hint of professionalism.

“Chuffed,” Drew smiles, his teeth out and his eyes crinkling a bit. Harry thinks of Liam and how his eyes crinkle around the edges, and how the creases in his cheeks and a small crescent shaped dimple on his left cheek appears when he smiles. He thinks of his soft laugh and how only Louis is able to coax it out of him. He thinks about how both boys are sitting somewhere in the same bar, tucked away in their regular corner booth probably laughing about Louis’ flopping on the field while Harry reminisces about how easy it is to not talk. To ignore each other’s existence because you know. Life.

 Niall shifts his camera to Andy, “What about you, Andy? What were your thoughts when Drew scored the winning goal?”

Andy laughs, unabashedly loud, “how smashed I’m gonna get tonight.”

Niall grimaces, “Andy, that’s not quality film material.”

Harry pulls at Niall’s sleeve, “Niall please don’t shove your camera in their faces.” Niall pointedly ignores Harry – not even turning to answer – and continues with his rapid fire questions. Immersed in the moment.

Something about Niall being his unapologetic self ticks Harry off. Having spent years trying to foster an image being shattered in a matter of seconds scares him. He wishes it was easier to be comfortable in his own skin all the time.

“Were you nervous? Or buzzing with a sense of thrill? Any preemptive measures taken before the game to prep the team?”

The Pub is filling up with hordes of people, every corner occupied by a college student, the bartender calling out numbers for customers’ in-line waiting for their drinks. The bulb suspending from the ceiling adding to the sheen of sweat blanketing Harry’s forehead.

“Styles, tell your boy here to stop asking too many complicated questions. Just wanna get hammered, mate,” Andy says flippantly. _Your boy_ rings in Harry’s ears, his neck prickling under the heat of the light.

A faint pink cases his face as he pulls Niall’s wrist, “Enough.” His words coming out more sternly than intended. “I would very much like if you _don’t_ shove your camera in their faces. We don’t do this sort of thing.”

Niall screws up his face in confusion, and Harry swears he sees a flicker of disappointment as the realization dawns upon the boy, “Alright.”

After that the mood changes, Niall no longer leaning into Harry’s shoulder, a heavy air hanging in-between them. Harry feels the guilt rising in his throat, apology at the tip of his tongue when Jace staggers over to their table, smashing a lager in front of Niall.

Niall raises an eyebrow looking at Jace. “Heard you’re Irish,” Jace supplies.

Niall nods, “And?”

“Care for a drinking challenge?”

It’s scary how readily he agrees to the proposition, no questions asked. Harry watches Niall down 2 handles, 4 shots of vodka and a pint of rum & coke. To no one’s surprise Niall wins – Jace promises to buy Niall dinner at the local lobster house. Fancy butter and all.

Niall is quite pleased with himself by the end of his little conquest, hand curled around a pint and a goofy smile on his face. He reaches over and taps Jace’s fingers with his own – Jace being seated opposite to Niall and Harry.

“You know you almost had me beat,” Niall says, his voice raspy and thick.

“You’re too kind, have nothin’ on an Irishmen like you,” Jace winks igniting a prickly feeling under Harry’s palms. He can feel the uneasiness rising in his stomach. Again.

Niall settles back in to the booth. His demeanor shifting from hyper to cool and collected. Harry’s never seen him drunk and to see him so comfortable in his own skin evenwhen he’s _under_ the influence; it is a huge feat in Harry’s eyes.

“Well, how about you come over and I teach you a thing or two?” He arches a brow. Jace catches on to the suggestive remark looking flustered and shocked simultaneously. He shy’s away under Niall’s gaze rubbing the back of his neck, sadly, he’s a beat too slow because Harry speaks up, “’s getting late. Should head home, m’ completely knackered.”

He nudges Niall to which he complies and both boys bid farewell to rest of the team, a goodbye here and high-five there.

The crisp air envelops them as they hustle out of the bar, bundled up in their winter coats. Harry huddles closer to Niall only for the other boy to step back putting a good distance between them. Harry stops and turns to face him, a pout in place.

“What?” Niall spits, a trace of annoyance evident.

“You’re mad at me,” Harry confirms.

“Fucking took you long enough,” Niall side-steps proceeding to walk away. Harry comes to stand in front of him blocking his pathway; his mind made up.

Harry can’t tell if Niall is sobering up or if he’s usually this skittish – his mood changing every second. “Listen, I’m sorry I told you to stop filming but you were being impolite.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “What did you say? I was being impolite? Why cause I was asking a few questions? The one’s your friends had allowed me to but were too braindead to answer because they drank their weight in alcohol?”

“We won a game, Niall! What do you expect?”

“I expect you to play along and let me be myself. To not shout at me!” Niall throws his hand in the air. “I’m not your bitch, Harry.”

Harry is taken aback, recalling how he was in fact being rude and his friends didn’t even mind the camera. But Harry can’t agree with Niall because when he’s with his team he’s Harry Styles number one goalie. Not just another kid. Shrouded by an image his mind has concocted for him. “For Christ’s sake was stopping you really that bad? Did it hurt your feelings?”

Niall visibly resigns. His expression changing from livid to crestfallen. “tell me, Harry. Do you like yourself? Do you like who you are around them? Authoritative and a complete twat.”

Harry and Niall stare at each other. Harry’s throat scratchy and Niall’s breathing jagged. “I don’t like fighting you,” Harry admits.

Niall shrugs, “Yeah, well, I’m not willing to be another person’s experimental phase.”

Harry’s heart beats erratically in his chest, he feels trapped in the confines of his coat. “Wha-” he stutters, “What do you mean by that?”

“You’re not fooling anyone, Harry. I know what you’re looking for and I’m not ready to put out. So by all means if you want to leave please do so because I’m not interested in the slightest.”

The expression ‘it hit me like a freight train’ hadn’t ever hit so close to home as it did now. Niall pushes past Harry leaving the younger boy out in the cold. Funnily enough Harry’s too numb to notice.

\--

 

Niall usually spends his Saturdays out with friends. But since January is ending their first exam is approaching fast so he chooses to spend it cooped up in his room studying under the light of his flimsy lamp than join Zayn and the others.

He’s not expecting any visitors since his friends are busy enjoying karaoke night at their favorite pub so when Niall hears a soft knock on his door he is genuinely surprised. He totters over to the door, unlocking it to a familiar face. Harry.

He is limply leaning against the jamb, a dopey smile on his face and his curls messily hanging in his face.

“What are you doing here?” Niall’s tone is clipped and to the point. He has an exam Monday and is in no mood to deal with Harry’s antics.

Harry pouts struggling to straighten himself and swaying forward, a finger curled around a beer bottle. “Don’t be mean.”

Niall sighs, moving back into the apartment and letting Harry in. It’s going to be a long night. “You’re obviously far too drunk to function so how about you hang around and don’t bug me, alright? I have an exam to study for.”

Harry nods but follows in Niall’s steps to his room stopping when Niall does and tilting his head to the right. It’s like watching a baby chick follow its mother.

“Did you not hear me?” Niall says, annoyed.

“Did. But,” Harry pauses, thinking over his words, “’s cold in living room. Your room is warm.”

Niall rolls his eyes moving to his closet and picking out a sweatshirt. Harry is only wearing a sheer black t-shirt and black skinnies. Not the proper attire during winter.

He throws the sweatshirt at Harry which he successfully catches. His little victory is short lived because just as Niall moves to walk towards his desk Harry lets out an annoyed huff.

“Ni, it won’t _fit_.” Niall’s heart lurching at the nickname.

Niall turns to find Harry trying fit his giant ass head through the arm hole. Niall shakes his head and helps Harry into the sweatshirt, pulling it down from its ribbed border. It fits him well. Niall’s heartbeat quickens as he takes in Harry in his clothing. Something about sharing clothes makes him blush – it’s not the first time he’s thought of doing it.

Harry pushes his curls out of his face tucking them into the hood. Niall can’t help be entranced; captured by the forest green eyes. Harry looks back at him a toothy grin in place and eyes sparkling.

“Hello,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Niall replies. Their voices drowning to the sound of the clunky fan and the hum of Niall’s laptop.

“I missed you,” Harry admits, chewing on his bottom lip. Niall wants to tell him to stop but can’t bring himself to. “Do you hate me now?”

Nothing but innocence dripping with every word. Hitting Niall like bullets and weakening his resolve. He wants to reach out and cup the other boy’s jaw, eliminating the abysmal distance between them; literally and figuratively. He chooses to turn away and plonk on his bed. Harry follows in suit.

He crawls over to Niall, sitting up on his knees and clasping his hands together.

“Nialler. Ni. Nilly Nially.”

“Yes?”

“Pleash, don’t be mad at me,” his words coming out slurred and incoherent, “me sad if you are.”

“Harry, don’t be stupid. How about I make your bed and you go to sleep? I have studying to work on.”

“no!” Harry protests, “I’ll be a good. You can study.”

“Ok.”

Niall spends the next hour taking notes from his dimly lit computer screen as Harry settles in a chair next to him. His sweater paws flipping through one of Niall’s first year introductory film books. He really should look into selling them.

“Screw this,” Niall sighs. “I don’t wanna do this anymore!”

Apparently, in the few seconds Niall got frustrated Harry had strolled out of the room. Niall pushes away from his desk and goes out to look for him. His search cut short when he locates Harry in his attached kitchen. A wine bottle in hand. Oh god.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Harry turns guilt masking his expression being caught red-handed. “’s was callin’ to me?” He looks at the uncorked bottle of wine, “Right, Mr. Wine?”

Niall marches to him, extracting the bottle and examining how much damage has been done – a couple of healthy sips – and puts away the bottle. “I’m cutting you off.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, offended, “you a big butt! Niall’s a big butt who doesn’t let me have fun!”

“No, Niall’s very smart and is looking out for you. Now stop being a dickwad and listen to me.”

Harry giggles. _Fucking giggles_. Niall can feel his heart restricting in its cage. “Okie!”

Niall tucks Harry in, socks on and hoodie off, “now sleep, okay?”

Harry pulls on Niall’s pointer finger pulling him in, “stay. Please?”

Niall eventually gives in. Getting under the comforter with Harry. The younger boy leans in Niall’s chest, nuzzling into his neck. His breath heavy against Niall’s neck. He thanks the God’s above that the lights are turned off and Harry can’t see the pink of Niall’s cheek.

Ten minutes later Harry breaks the comforting silence.

“Niall,” he voices, looking up at Niall. His eyes so brilliantly green under the dappling moonlight streaming in through the crooked blinds, “I think I love you.”

Niall gulps down the lump in his throat, his tongue heavy and his ears deafened by the three words he didn’t expect – or didn’t want to hear. “Go to bed, Haz. You’re drunk. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

Harry shakes his head in protest. “’m not. I know how I feel.”

“Yeah? And how do you feel?” Niall asks curiously.

Harry reaches over Niall’s stomach and grabs his hand bringing it to his own chest and lying Niall’s palm flat against it. “Like that. It goes badump badump for you.”

Niall is completely enamored, feeling the erratic pulse of Harry’s heart, and he can’t even pretend not liking the boy in front of him. Harry continues, “I don’t want what you said.”

“I don’t want you only for,” Harry’s eyes trail down Niall’s body, “I-I really like you for _you_. You make me laugh and you’re kind. And you remind me of bunnies.”

“A bunny? Bunnies are fucking useless, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth drops open, “no they aren’t! They hop around and eat carrots! They’re aweshum!”

“Alright alright. Bunnies are awesome. Fine, Mr. Styles?” Niall laughs, embracing Harry into a hug.

“Yes, Mr. Horan.”

“Niall?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Can I be your boyfriend?” Harry asks just as sleep washes over him leaving the question hanging between them. Niall closes his eyes letting the entwined beat of their hearts carry him in to slumber.

Niall wakes up to an empty bed, his arms splayed across the cold sheets that bare last night’s memories. He tosses off the comforter, slinging his feet to the hardwood floor and stumbling out of the room. When he nears the kitchen he hears some bustling; pots clanking, a steady ‘ _shooing’_ sound coming from the kettle. He feels the bruised organ in his chest pick up its pace, the possibility of having the curly haired boy standing in his kitchen makes him dizzy.

Harry sporadically moves around the kitchen, maneuvering himself alongside Zayn as they cook breakfast? Niall hopes. Well, at this point Niall doesn’t even care because he’s too far gone to wipe the smile off his face. His emotions teetering between excited and emotional – yes, he can be emotional too.

Harry looks up from his perfectly cut potatoes, “you’re awake!”

“You stayed,” Niall replies.

Harry smirks, walking up to Niall and putting his hands on Niall’s shoulders, “had to make breakfast for my boyfriend, didn’t I?”

Niall doesn’t correct him because, maybe, there isn’t really a reason to. He tries not to think of how they will be outside the comfort of Niall’s small flat. But right now he’s too happy to care.

\--

Harry goes back to his dorm that afternoon with only one thing in mind. He needs to do everything he can to makeup with Louis. Nowhere does it say in the rulebook that he can’t have best of both worlds and even if it does he’s willing to break a few rules. He stops at the store to buy some Yorkshire tea because he knows they are out and grabs a box of freshly baked scones from the bakery next door. If he has to bribe Louis back into being best friends he will.

The door to their suite is left ajar, the buzz of the telly spilling into the hallway. He thinks Liam has left the food channel on again, something he does after his daily workouts; yes, Liam watches the food channel after a workout. Ironic.

Harry nudges the door open. Louis is sitting on the couch, a pint of ice cream in hand, while he cries to the notebook. It’s almost like reflex how fast Harry drops the groceries on the tiled floor and scurries to Louis’ side, wrapping his arms around the older boy’s torso.

“Lou, what’s wrong?” Harry hums into the crown of his head.

He sniffles, rubbing his runny nose against Harry’s – more like Niall’s – hoodie, and says, “El broke up with me.”

That catches Harry off-guard. He wants to ask why but he can’t so he just lets Louis cry.

A couple of hours later a distraught looking Liam comes back. He sighs before plopping down next to Harry on the couch, Louis’ head resting in Harry’s lap as he snores away his troubles.

“Guess you heard,” Liam supplies.

“sucks, mate. They were so good for each other.”

“Yeah, well, Tommo here was being a right arse to her when she told him that she was going to do semester abroad. Not to mention with Max.”

“oh,” Harry says, “so, you think they’re done for good?”

Liam laughs heartily. “Remember New Year’s from two years ago?”

Harry nods not following Liam’s train of thought, “El knows. Has for a while. She’s just as gone as this wanker but is too afraid to admit.”

Harry smiles down at Louis. He takes in his delicate feathery features and thinks how pretty he is – not like Zayn where the beauty hits you like a train or like Liam who is rugged and unabashedly beautiful. But it’s more subtle, creeping in and settling into you until you realize ‘ _wow’_ this guy is beautiful. And that’s when it comes rushing. The sensation of feeling grounded and at home. Something that Harry hasn’t felt in a long time. At home right here. Tucked between his two best friends with the love of a beautiful boy seeded into his heart. Harry couldn’t ask for more.

They don’t verbally apologize to each other, but that’s also because there is no need to.

\--

Eleanor and Louis don’t _really_ get back together instead they tread on thin ice skirting around each other like lost puppies. She visits their suite with the excuse of being friends with Harry and Liam when they all know it’s to keep an eye on Louis. Well, Liam and Harry know. Another thing happens. Everyone collectively becomes friends with Zayn and Niall. It’s weird how they just fit themselves into their group. The dynamics meshing together to make five new friends. Harry likes it.

They are watching an old classic that Niall persuaded them to. ‘ _It’s my second favorite movie’_ he had insisted. It’s called old boy and Harry has dozed off at least twice now. The ending credits roll in and Harry finally sighs in relief, shifting in his bean bag.

“So did you like it?” Niall turns to Harry excitedly. The red bull he drank 10 minutes ago kicking in full effect. Harry might be overtly tired or borderline delusional at this point but he can see Niall’s eyes twinkling.

“Was great, Ni” He lies through his teeth.

“Wasn’t it? Sometimes you just gotta let go? No matter how big or small the problem is. You could be in prison one day and basketball court the other!”

Louis snorts from where he is sitting on the couch. He’s holding a bowl of popcorn and beer in hand as he rolls his eyes at Niall’s spiel.

Though there isn’t malice behind his annoyance. Louis is proper endeared by Niall. Harry worries at times.

“what?” Harry says, confused.

“Just contemplating life through the lens of space jam and old boy,” he pauses, his smile doubling (who knew that was possible?), “lens! Get it? ‘Cause I’m a film major!”

Harry tries his hardest not to laugh but he’s a sucker for puns and Niall. Louis only groans further when Zayn and Liam come back from their rendezvous at the toilet.

“great, the married couple is back,” Louis complains.

Harry furrows his eyebrows looking between Liam and Zayn when he notices their clasped hands. His jaw drops open. “When did you two? I’ve literally always been here!”

A chorus of laughs fill the room as Harry wallows in his obliviousness.

“Harold, whenever you fell asleep during movie nights those two exchanged some pretty hefty BJ’s in the kitchen,” Niall informs him.

Harry is completely horrified, “ _MY KITCHEN? THAT’S WHERE I MAKE MY PROTEIN SHAKES!”_

Louis sneers, “Harry, shut the fuck up it’s an attached fridge and sink. Besides, you didn’t have to listen to Picasso here moan _‘Liam harder baby harder’_.” He points at Zayn. “You were too busy being a fuckface and snoring. Meanwhile blondie was having orgy dreams about Jessica rabbit, bugs bunny and Michael Jordan while we watched Space Jam.”

Zayn nuzzles away into Liam’s chest as he hides his blushing face, Liam only giggling and letting Louis go on. Harry faces Niall, seeing the ruddy red decorating his cheeks, spreading all the way down to his neck and under his shirt. Harry wishes more than anything that they were alone right now so he could trace it. He is shaken out of his trance when Niall speaks up.

“Yeah? Don’t think I didn’t notice El giving you a blowjob the other day,” Niall smirks.

Louis chokes on his drink and admits defeat.

Harry complains, “Has everyone done something R-rated in our suite except me? Where are my under the table handjobs?”

Liam pipes up, “Harry if you keep saying R-rated don’t think you’ll ever get a handjob under the table. Amirite, Niall?”

Niall shrugs, “true, ‘sides his dick isn’t big enough for me to succumb to such favors.”

Harry feigns offence ready to defend himself when Louis speaks up, “When the hell did my life turn into an episode of queer as folk? Y’all can fuck whoever you want as long as you show up to practice on time!”

Niall snickers, “weren’t you the one who skipped practice the other day because Eleanor has just gotten off her period?”

“Celibacy is a cruel thing Neil. I don’t wish it upon anyone else.”

\--

Valentine days is supposed to be the day to celebrate love. A day where lovers across the world profess their love for their significant other and try their best to make it special for each other. Harry, however, has never celebrated it. It’s usually him picking up a girl or two – totally not in an objectifying way if you ask him – and loving them wholeheartedly. For a night that is. This year is different though. He is in a relationship and he has no idea what to do. To top it all off they have a game on Friday. On Valentine’s Day. It’s like the universe is working against him.

Granted him and Niall haven’t really defined their relationship other than Harry’s drunken confession which Niall didn’t reciprocate to out loud. But Harry thinks that it isn’t a big deal as long as they can be around each other that’s all that matters. So, he asks Niall out on Friday to come watch his game. Not a standard date where one can hold hands but Niall being there will mean a lot to Harry.

“And why exactly is painting my face necessary?” Niall asks. Harry gently brushes his cheeks with dark green paint, careful not to get it in Niall’s eyes or anything. He even made sure he bought organic carcinogen free paint.

They’re sitting in the locker room, Harry in Niall’s lap as he paints him green and gold – the colors of their home team. None of the other players are there yet. Harry made sure to arrive early so he can spend time with Niall. Alone.

“’Cause school spirit!” Harry cheers, gingerly putting the brush into the plastic cup of water. He tugs on the collar of Niall’s polo – he went golfing earlier – and presses his fingers into the other boy’s shoulder blades.

Niall’s eyes flutter open disoriented by the shift in Harry’s attitude, “Hello there.”

Harry ducks a little, bringing his lips to the exposed skin peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt, pushing aside the collar, and planting a kiss to Niall’s collarbone. He shifts in Niall’s lap creating friction between the denim separating them. Harry continues to pepper small kisses as Niall traces his back, his fingers playing with the hem of Harry’s shirt a little tentative at first, but once Harry nods that _yes he wants this_ Niall slips his hand under his shirt.

Harry can feel his own growing bulge against Niall’s. They’re never gone farther than a peck or two, gentle kisses and that’s all. This is new and exciting. Harry can feel the steady thrum of his heart, his skin burning under Niall’s touch, his fingers pleading to wrap around the older boy’s length. Harry’s hand runs down his arms, gripping onto his bicep, before making his way to the front of his jeans. He toys with the button, trying to work his way into Niall’s jeans.

A loud thud causes Harry to skid off of Niall’s lap, landing on the hard tiled floor. He hurries to get up and fix his appearance – the possibility of someone finding them in a compromising position plaguing his thoughts.

 Andy, alongside other team members, enter the locker room laughing at something one of them had said. Niall stands up from where he’s sitting on the bench and walks past Harry.

“Where you going?”

Niall doesn’t get to answer because Andy spots them. Running over and pulling Niall into a hug, “Horan, haven’t seen you in forever. Styles, here keeping you from us?”

Harry can’t see Niall’s face. Can’t tell why Niall’s back is facing him. “Why would he?” Niall answers.

“You’re best mates, no? Look he even made you paint your face,” Andy laughs, someone calls for him from the other side of the lockers. The rattling of metal filling the room. “just a mo’. Alright, see you later, Horan, gotta get ready for the big game. WOO!”

Harry approaches with caution in his step, afraid he might’ve done something to upset Niall, “is everything alright?”

Niall turns to Harry, a tight smile masking his face, “yeah. No, sorry, I got caught up in the moment.”

Harry chooses to believe Niall. Not doubting his words as the boy exits the room to go sit with his other friends. Harry doesn’t dwell on it.

\--

Harry starts noticing the awkward air when he and Niall are alone. Anytime Harry tries initiating anything remotely sexual Niall pushes him away, changing the topic, coming up with excuses or, as he did today, inviting friends over.

They’re watching some documentary over Aleister Crowley, a famous English occultist, and honestly it’s fucked up but Harry can’t even concentrate because earlier Niall and him sneaked on to the football field and tossed around the ball a bit. Okay, maybe, Niall kicked his arse but that’s only because Harry was still tired from yesterday’s game. Regardless, now they are sitting in Harry’s suite with Niall drenched in sweat, the blond strands sticking to his forehead, his cheeks still puffy red from the intense one-on-one and his shorts stained. Harry’s more turned on than he should be. His desire to watch the movie was stronger than to shower.

Harry scoots his bean bag closer to Niall’s, gliding his hand down his back. Startled Niall turns to him and Harry whispers a ‘ _shh’_ bobbing his head at the movie. Niall shrugs, leaving Harry to his devices, and focuses on the screen.  Harry tugs at Niall’s shorts, slipping his hand in and laying his palm flat against the fabric of his boxer. He rubs gently, coaxing a soft moan out of Niall, palming the growing bulge steadily.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall says through his teeth, voice strained with his eyes trained on the TV. The other boys oblivious to happenings taking place in the room. Pretty sure, Louis isn’t even looking their way because he’s too busy curling into Eleanor, hiding from the monstrosity on the screen. He’s not sure what’s going on between the two but he’s not one to judge.

Harry hums in response, wrapping his hand around Niall’s length, hiding his beaming smile to the best of his ability. Alas, before he can do anything Niall pinches his forearm causing him to jerk away and letting out a squeal. It’s like it triggers something in the room and all boys scream simultaneously.

“What happened?” Zayn asks, words coming out muffled from where he is tucked under Liam’s arm with a massive blanket over them.

Harry rubs his arms, “nothing.”  He mumbles, “Saw a bug.”

Safe to say that Louis is scarred by the end of the documentary, thoroughly convinced that Crowley is still alive and that Niall’s sole intention of watching the movie was to get back Louis for beating him at blackjack the night before. 

Louis rants away to Harry, “Lou, I swear all I wanted to know was the joke boy’s name and not this.”

Harry looks over to gauge Niall’s reaction but he gets nothing. He might’ve proper pissed him off this time.

Liam says, a mouthful of popcorn, “at least he can get us free tickets to the movies.”

Harry jokes, “Yes, overpriced popcorn and Captain America’s tight bodysuit is the way to my heart.”

Niall jumps on Harry’s back, scaring him a little but mostly surprising him, “REALLY? Me too.”

Later that night when they’re showered clean and busy studying in Harry’s room – more like Niall tinkering with his camera while Harry prepares for his micro exam. Harry can’t concentrate, Niall’s distance bugging him and questions circling his thoughts. He takes in a deep breath, gathering enough courage to address the issue, “can we talk?”

Niall looks up from his film roll, a fond look on his face, and nods.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?”

Niall’s eyebrows knit together, “Why won’t you tell your friends we’re dating?”

The question is direct and has a hint of challenge in it. Harry shoulders feel a tense weight on them, he rolls them a bit to release the tension, “I asked first.”

“Alright,” Niall retorts. “I don’t want you to.”

Harry knows Niall isn’t trying to be mean but hearing the words so clearly definitely bruises his ego. “My footie friends don’t need to know who I date and who I don’t.”

Niall doesn’t say anything, goes back to his camera without another word, pressing buttons and reviewing scenes he had captured earlier.

Harry crawls over to the foot of his bed, Niall’s legs dangling from it, presses his nose to Niall’s knee. He gently places a kiss on top of the scar.

 “I’m sorry, I’m scared,” he admits nervously, not quite meeting Niall’s eyes, nuzzling up against his knee. “I’ve never done this and every time I see you I get this urge to touch you…this is all very new to me.” He’s embarrassed at the words tumbling out. But it’s like word vomit he can’t stop.

Niall sighs, setting aside his camcorder, tipping Harry’s chin up. Harry forgets sometimes how beautiful Niall’s eyes are, the blue standing out and capturing one’s attention. And his lips, the bow shaped lips that quirk in a shit-eating grin when he’s happy. Harry’s so fucking gone for Niall that even he can’t believe.

“You’re a right tit you know that, Harry?” Niall chuckles, pausing to clear his throat. “Didn’t wanna have to repeat myself but I can’t be an experimental game. I need you to tell me that this is what you want; that you’re not gonna shy away from me when we’re around your friends; that we can be together. Proper together. I don’t want halfway shit where I’m some dirty secret you hide. I like whoever I want and don’t give a flying fuck what people think. I can’t have the guy who I like caring about it or else this won’t work.”

The window to his room is left open, cold air blowing and sending a shiver down Harry’s body. The subdued chatter of college kids walking past his dorm filtering through the hole – it’s comforting. Harry rest his head on Niall’s knee, breathing out little puffs of air. “I don’t know what I am. Haven’t for a while. But what I do know is I li –,” he stutters. “I think I love you.”

Niall puts his hand in Harry’s hair, scratches his skulls, as he leans into the touch and for the first time since they’ve met Niall lets himself believe in the boy before him. “And I think I love you too.”

 

iii. 

They win the championship that year bringing home trophies and medals that the school hasn’t seen in ages.  Niall attends the game with Zayn, both cuddled up in the bleachers, Niall’s camcorder fixed in his hand as he records Harry’s last save. Harry still isn’t sure why Niall needed so much footage of him playing but he does and Harry doesn’t feel like questioning it.

Andy decides to throw a costume party to celebrate their victory. In Mid-April, yes.

“It’s fucking April why is that wanker throwing a costume party?” Louis complains.

Liam rolls his eyes, pulling on his batman costume. He’s matching Zayn who’s going as Catwoman. Yes, Catwoman. “Louis, you get to see Eleanor in a slutty outfit why the hell are you complaining?”

Right, they’re dating again.

Louis puffs up his cheeks, making Niall laugh, “CAUSE SHE WANTS ME TO DRESS UP AS PETER PAN FOR THE THIRD YEAR IN A ROW AND I’M TIRED OF TAKING PICTURES WITH PEOPLE’S YOUNGER SIBLINGS”

Niall doubles over in his chair laughing, “mate, if the shoe fits.”

“Fuck you, Horan! Wait till you see what your boyfriend is wearing,” Louis waggles his pointer finger in Niall’s face.

Zayn walks out of his room decked out in spandex. Little left to imagination. Niall catches a glimpse of Liam’s jaw dropping open, “babe, you look fantastic.”

Louis and Niall make gagging noises only to be interrupted by Harry wobbling out of Niall’s room. _Oh god_ , Niall thinks.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what are you wearing?” Niall eyes widen in amusement while Louis elbows him.

Harry chose to wear a full-body whale costume. “Hey! Don’t take the lord’s name in vain!” Harry says, Niall can perfectly picture him pouting under his costume, “’sides, I did it in memory of our first date.”

“Harry, you look fucking stupid. Go take it off and wear one of your hipster outfits.”

“I can’t.”

“He can’t,” Zayn confirms.

“Why?” Niall, Liam and Louis ask at the same time.

“I only have a speedo on,” he shrugs. They all burst out laughing.

Niall and Harry attend Andy’s party as _NiallandHarry_. It becomes quite obvious when they walk in hand in hand. No one says anything rude unlike Harry had expected. Instead Jace congratulates Harry and Andy bear hugs Niall.

As the hours go by Niall downs enough alcohol to feel slightly buzzed. His Harry Potter costume weighing him down and making him sweat profusely. The overcrowded living room isn’t helping.

He and Harry make their way up to Andy’s room, turning on the a/c and plopping down on the massive couch. Harry is twiddling his fins as he examines the room with the peepholes in his mask. He has a ‘ _save the orcas’_ hanging around his neck and Niall is wholly endeared. He trudges his way over to him and settles in his lap. Unfastening his Gryffindor robe so he’s left in a t-shirt and jeans.

“This is the only time I’d offer to blow you in someone else’s room. Or more importantly let you blow _me_.”

“Fuck,” Harry breathes. He reaches back trying to find the zipper of his costume but it’s stuck. He pulls on hastily and ends up breaking it. Great.

“I can’t believe this is happening right now. I can’t be stuck,” Harry cries out.

Niall giggles, the noiseless void filling in with the most beautiful sound Harry has heard.

“Niall, I can’t believe dying whales is your kink,” Harry jests.

“Keep that up and you’ll be celibate for life,” Niall giggles. _Again._

Harry sigh, leaning into Niall’s chest, “Life.” He breathes in the word, “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

A knock on the door jolts them out of their peaceful embrace. Another knock and Louis bolts in, “Harry. Harry. Harry.”

He looks between Harry and Niall and continues ignoring their annoyed looks, “did you see the documentary Niall filmed of you?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit in confusion as Louis pulls him up – Niall already off his lap. They trek downstairs where a throng of people are gathered around the TV, Niall and Harry push past them, coming to a stop when they’re in the dead center. Harry takes a seat watching the film roll, each scene playing a memory of his past year. His year _with Niall_. Through Niall’s lens. It’s better than a montage. It’s better than an ‘ _I love you’_.

The tears trickle down his cheeks as he turns to face Niall when the boy whispers, “Happy belated Valentine’s Day.”

Harry jumps forward and presses his lips to Niall’s. No longer afraid to be who he is with whom he loves. “I love you,” he whimpers, their lips ghosting over each other’s.

“You’re alright, too, I guess,” Niall giggles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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